


There's ice in your veins

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Setting, F/M, Jonsa Kink Week, King and Queen in the North, Light Bondage, Married Life, PWP, after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: “How do you feel?” Jon whispers close to her ear making a shudder roll down her spine.“Exposed,” Sansa states, for it is true.Jon wants to try something new in the bedroom.For Jonsa Kink Week





	There's ice in your veins

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I should probably contribute to the amazing works being entered to the Jonsa Kink Week event!

“Thank you,” Jon said to the maidservant who had knocked on the door. Sansa noted that he’d been quick to rise and answer it himself, crossing the room excitedly and cracking the door open with only enough room to fit his head, completely blocking Sansa’s view of which maidservant had knocked, and for what purpose.

“We are not to be disturbed,” Jon muttered to the maid before turning back into the room, closing the door and barring it – an action that Sansa found peculiar considering it was the middle of the day. She watched him curiously as he crossed the room once more, this time holding a clay pitcher of what Sansa assumes is ale. He sets the jug on the stand beside their bed and turns to face her with eyes like obsidian and a twitch on his lips.

“What are you up to?” Sansa finds herself asking aloud, her knitting needles stilled and lowered into her lap.

“Can a man not possess some secrets of his own?” Jon responds, a mischievous lilt to his voice.

Sansa shakes her head with a smile. “Not from his wife.”

It takes only a few long strides and Jon is directly before her, leaning down and taking her lips so suddenly that it makes her heart stutter in her chest. His actions are so quick and needful that Sansa finds them reminiscent of when they’d first learnt what they truly were to each other, when they’d discovered that they were not siblings after all. And when they’d had to steal each other away behind locked chamber doors or share frantic kisses and fumbles in the abandoned broken tower – far away from the prying eyes of the Dragon Queen’s minions.

Jon knelt before her, not breaking the joining of their lips as he cupped the side of her head in his warm hand. Sansa melted into him – as she is oft does under the ministration of that clever mouth of his. Her fingers sunk into his curls, holding them tight, keeping him close. Her knitting forgotten in her lap. Jon groaned into their kiss and began nipping along her jaw and throat, his hands moving to palm her breasts through the material of her dress.

“Jon….it’s the middle of the day!” Sansa gasped, her protest as weak as her resolve against attentions such as this from her husband.

“I have made rearrangements,” Jon husked into the base of her neck, causing Sansa to shudder against him.

“Rearrangements?” she whispered.

Sansa’s sure she heard a feral kind of sound from deep within Jon’s chest just before he answers her. “Yes,” he says, beginning to paw at the laces of her bodice, the front loosening just enough for him to tug down to expose a nipple. “I have plans for you, my wife,” Jon says on a growl before the warmth of his mouth covers her teat and gives her a short hard suck.

 _“Ooh!”_ Sansa keens, the noise ripping itself from her throat before she barely has time to register what it is that he had done.

Jon smirks up at her from her position close to her breast. He rolls the side of his face into her flesh, his beard scratching her delightfully as he nuzzles the curve of her bosom. “Take off your clothes for me,” he says, his eyes closed as he inhales her skin. His words sound like a question, a plea – said in a tone that Sansa would find near impossible to deny him anything.

 And yet she has to ask.

Since they’d wed shortly before the war and known - _truly known_ \- each other’s bodies, their couplings have always pleased and delighted her – but they had taken place after dark, once all duties were done and the castle is readying itself for slumber. Never had she shed her clothing during the waking hours. Never had their married affections gone further than a peck of lips when the castle is alive with activity.

And so, she has to ask.

“What do you have planned that I should need to be rid of my clothing?”

Jon’s eyes blink open and look up at her. “Do you trust me?” he says, his hot breath fanning over the valley between her breasts.

“Of course I do,” Sansa responds instantly. There is no question about that – no question at all. The certainty of her answer makes Jon smile, his eyes crinkling in the way that she loves.

“Then take off your clothes,” Jon says hoarsely, moving so his mouth hovers over her teat, “please, my queen,” he gives one quick firm lick with the flat of his tongue across her nipple, “until you are naked, save for your pretty little stockings.”

Sansa sucks in a breath. Nodding dumbly as her heart begins to set a rhythm entirely new. Jon grins and rises to his feet, going back to his normal chair by the hearth. Sansa stares after him, her lips parted as her mind is still struggling to keep up. Only a few minutes ago they had finished their mid-day meal together by the hearth and were discussing the new sites for more wildling settlements. Now, she is sat in her armchair, her breathing becoming more excited, her breasts exposed and her sex starting to tingle in anticipation. Jon raises a hand, and indication for her to do as she had promised, to carry out his request.

Sansa stands, her knitting clattering to the floor. She frowns down at it as if this would be the first time she’d ever seen such a thing. Sansa bends to retrieve the part-made patch for a blanket she has been making for the past moon.

“Ah-ah-ah” Jon interrupts her movement, Sansa freezes and glances up at him. “Leave it be.”

So, this was the game he’d like to play? Dominance?

“Of course,” Sansa straightens slowly, looking him directly in the eye as she asserts her next words, “my king.”

Jon’s smile broadens, and he nods for her to continue, sitting there watching her intently as she begins to shed her clothes like a little show for his own delight.

“The smallclothes too,” Jon comments as Sansa seems to pause at this last item of clothing, “take them off for me.”

Sansa feels her cheeks heat as she shimmies the silk down her legs and steps out from them. She stands there in nought but her white stockings and can practically feel her husband’s eyes rake greedily over her exposed skin. Her nipples pucker and she feels a wetness between her thighs the longer and longer it goes on. Finally, Jon rests his eyes upon her face and she’s sure that he is to ask her to come and sit in his lap or straddle him there in the chair.

“Go and lay down on the bed,” he instructs. Sansa blinks but follows his command, settling her back atop the furs. “Move over and lay on my side of the bed,” Jon says, still sat over in the armchair by the hearth. Sansa scoots over and looks up to the bed canopy, wondering what her husband will ask of her next. “Good girl,” he says and Sansa marvels at how those two words can make her shiver as she hears him get up and stalk across the room towards her. “Do you trust me?” he asks once more as he comes to stand beside the bed.

“Yes,” she nods, “I trust you Jon.”

Jon smiles down at her and tenderly strokes the soft skin of her cheek before ducking down and pressing a groaning kiss to her lips. He straightens and gulps as he looks down at her, his eyes roaming the planes of her body, laid out and awaiting his command. Opening the drawer in his bedside table, Jon pulls out a bundle of black. “Would you…” he pauses, forcing another swallow making his throat bob, “would you allow me to tie you up?...Please?”

Sansa stares at him, her breath catching as her eyes drift to the bundle of black in his hand. _Ribbons_ , she thinks, feeling her own gulp building before she’s able to stop it. She blinks back up to his face. A face she trusts with anything and everything. “Alright.”

Releasing the breath he had held onto whilst awaiting her consent, Jon smiles warmly at her and Sansa is already glad to grant him his wish.

Jon clears his throat and ‘the king’ in him seems to return. “Move down the bed,” he commands. Sansa shimmies down as per his request, Jon watching intently, his tongue darting out to run along his bottom lip as her breasts jiggle with the movement. “Your wrists,” Jon instructs, crossing his own in front of him to show her how he wants it. After watching her husband bind her wrists together, Sansa can feel the anticipation coursing under her skin and the excitement pulsing under his. Jon pushes her arms up, placing them high above her head against the pillows. He pulls out another length of ribbon and connects her bound wrists to a wrought iron link that had been fixed into their solid wooden headboard. Sansa twists to look up at the thing.

“How long has that been there?” she asks, having never noticed it before.

Jon’s lips twitch in amusement and his cheeks colour before he clears his throat, so his voice is even and unaffected. “I had it added,” he states matter-of-factly.

Sansa’s eyes widen, “the smith?”

“Aye.”

“The smith knows that you’d planned to tie me up?” Sansa squeaks, making Jon smile after he’s tested the tautness of her bindings.

“Maybe he does,” Jon says, gently brushing the backs of his fingers down the soft underside of her outstretched arm, “maybe he doesn’t,” he finishes, bringing his hand up to stroke down the side of her face. Sansa can feel her pulse jump when he traces the shape of her lips with the barest of touches with the pad of his middle finger. “How do you feel about that? Knowing that the smith may guess that his queen allows herself to be at the mercy of a bastard king?”

“I-“ the words get stuck as Jon continues to glide a single finger over her lips, his eyes following his own movement with rapt attention. He nudges, pushes ever so slightly for her lips to part. And she allows it, opening her mouth a little to allow him in. Jon holds his breath. A slow stroke of her tongue and he’s withdrawing his digit, faintly dragging it down her jaw, her neck, her sternum and then wandering leisurely over to one breast where he circles her nipple into a tight little dusky pink bud.

Sansa lets out a shuddering breath and Jon’s eyes fly to her face again. “Do you mind it?” he asks.

With a crease in her brow, Sansa ponders over this. Of course, the smith may not suspect the cause of Jon’s request at all. But if he has….Sansa flushes at the prospect, but finds herself feeling deliciously wicked instead of shamed. “I don’t mind” she whispers.

Jon nods and goes back to the drawer. He pulls out a long piece of soft peach silk. Sansa recognises the scrap of fabric as the material he had bought her not that long ago. She had made herself an elegant night shift with that silk and she had hoped to make a pair of smallclothes with the remnants. Jon had other plans, it seems.

“Close your eyes.”

Sansa obeys and feels the sudden soft slide of the silk against her eyelids. She raises her head as Jon ties a secure knot at the back. “Is it comfortable?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“How do you feel?” Jon whispers close to her ear making a shudder roll down her spine.

“Exposed,” Sansa states, for it is true.

“Mmmm,” comes the rumble from Jon’s chest, his hand smoothing down her side and across the flat of her stomach. He moves to gently cup her mound, the heat of his hand a delicious sensation that Sansa misses when it’s taken away all too soon.

“And vulnerable,” Sansa whispers hoarsely.

“Mmmm,” the pleased low sound returns as Jon noses and nuzzles at the side of her throat, a hand gently kneading one of her breasts.

“And…safe,” Sansa sighs. Realising the contradiction in her statements, no matter the truth to them. Jon lets out a growl and claims her lips with a groan, pushing his tongue into her mouth to coax hers into a dance.

When Jon leaves her lips, Sansa whines. She can hear him panting and deduces that he has straightened to stand. Listening intently, Sansa thinks she hears him shuck his leather jerkin, the mental image of her husband in his breeches and undershirt making her lick her lips – although she’d prefer him to be as bare as she is at the moment, there was a certain thrill to her vulnerability like this.

The bed dips with Jon’s weight. She feels him nudge her legs apart with his clothed knee and she imagines him kneeling there between her thighs, wondering which part of her he’s feasting on with his eyes. Sansa shudders at the mental image. She’s seen that look on his face before – hungry with lust and reverent with awe when they make love without any material barriers.

Sansa feels the mattress dip by her rib as Jon places a hand there to lean over her and gift her another kiss. “Do you trust me?” he asks again, and Sansa finds herself nodding.

She gasps when he hooks his hands under her knees and pushes them up and back, parting her, exposing her so indecently before him that she has to sink her teeth into her bottom lip to supress a wanton moan from escaping.

“I would tie you like this,” he explains, pushing her legs even wider apart, her most intimate area on full display. “You’ll allow it?”

Sansa swallows, marvelling at the level of arousal she feels at the exposure. “I’ll allow it,” she croaks.

Jon fiddles around her, tying long lengths of ribbons around her knees. Sansa can hear the metallic creak of the wrought iron links and wonders how she managed to miss the addition of more than one piece of ironwork to her headboard.

“Mmmm,” Jon rumbles happily like a large purring beast once he’s done, his hand stroking up and down the inside of her thighs. “Do you still feel safe?”

Sansa nods, shivering with anticipation at finding out what he has planned next. His hand carries on up and down both her thighs, coming close to her sex but not touching until Sansa whines and huffs, frustrated and throbbing with need.

Jon chuckles. “Shall we begin?”

Sansa nods, letting out a long breath. The bed dips by her rib again and Sansa expects another kiss. But none come. Instead she hisses when something wet and icy-cold slides from the space between her breast down to her navel. _“What-“_ she gasps.

“Ice,” Jon supplies, the direction his voice comes from telling her that he’s hovering above her, “from the river,” he says, moving the ice chip up again to circle a nipple.

 _“Oh Gods!”_ Sansa shudders. And then the ice is gone, the cold replaced by the heat of Jon’s mouth, the tingle of it feeling like a fire licking at her teat. _“Aah!”_

That pleased sound he makes vibrates around the tight little bud he’d sucked into his mouth and Sansa can feel the tickle of some of Jon’s loose curls brush against her chest. _“Oh Jon!”_ she moans, straining against her restraints.

Jon answers her with a quick gentle nip to the side of her breast. She can feel him leaning again and hears the clink of ice against the pitcher’s side. Sansa hisses, her belly jumping when he circles her navel with another ice chip, the cold melting against her skin. Round and round he pushes it, until Sansa feels him lean forwards and slurp the icy water with a twirl of his hot tongue.

She senses him rest back on his heels again, his hands smoothing up and down the insides of her exposed thighs as he had done before. “I wish you could see yourself like this. How I see you now.”

Sansa blushes furiously below her blindfold, imagining how on display she must look. “Like a whore?” she asks.

“No,” Jon answers swiftly. Sansa can practically feel the heat of his gaze on her. “Like the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

“Jon…I’m indecent,” Sansa contradicts.

His hand slows its stroking of her milk-white flesh, bringing his fingers to dust feather-light drags around her womanly area. Never touching her cunny, just caressing the crease of her thigh, up through her maiden’s hair and down the other side of her most private place. He repeats the path over and over again, bringing a delicious tickle and _need_ for him to finally touch her where she wants him to.

Sansa whines, practically feeling the throb of her pulse in her cunt. Wiggling as much as she can to try and get him to relent and pay her woman’s place some attention. The strange thing is, she’s sure that he _is_ paying it plenty of attention, she can feel his eyes homing in on her exposed folds, her little button of pleasure and below, where she loves to feel him push into her. She’s so open and bare to him that she wonders if he can see how wet he’s making her without hardly touching her at all.

All of a sudden, his touch is gone again and Sansa sucks in a harsh breath over her teeth when she feels the freezing smooth glide of an ice chip directly applied to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. Jon circles the nub with the ice as the chip begins to melt and soak her curls. She begins to feel numb down there and then the ice is gone, being replaced by the latch of her husband’s hot mouth. Sansa moans throatily as he suckles and laps at the frozen flesh, bringing it back to life again with his clever tongue.

When his mouth leaves her this time, Sansa calls out her protest. “Patience, my love,” he chuckles quietly, leaning over to collect some more ice from the pitcher. Sansa bites at her bottom lip and turns her head against the furs as Jon rubs the slippery wet ice up and down through her folds. “You’re so hot, it’s melting in my fingers,” he says in a velvet voice, his breath hitching at the sight. Jon keeps rubbing the chip into her until she feels it getting smaller and smaller, the melt of it dribbling down, down, down between her arse cheeks to the furs beneath. He collects another and repeats the delightful torture, her whole sex feeling numb…until she feels him push the ice into her and immediately swoop down to chase it with his tongue.

He laps at her for a few beats, only just long enough for her to enjoy his exploration of her, before he pushes inside with his tongue and is gone again. Sansa’s about to huff her annoyance when a rough press of lips against her mouth has her gasping in surprise. The way Jon pushes the ice chip onto her tongue with his own, has her even more surprised. He kisses down her jaw and then sits back as she sucks on the piece in her mouth.

Sensing him sit back between her open legs again, Sansa waits for the cold press against her sex once more. She hears some fumbling of cord and the mattress jostles slightly at his movement and wonders if he is ridding himself of his clothes, the thought makes her grin as the ice chip melts on her tongue.

“Mmmm,” he rumbles gutturally like a starved man being presented with a feast. She can feel his eyes on her again, the thought making her squirm against her bindings. “So beautiful,” he rasps, a large warm hand coming to stroke her thigh again, “presented to me like this…ready…waiting…”

Sansa feels the faint jostling rhythm of the bed – a rhythm that doesn’t corollate with his hand stroking her skin.

“Are you…” she whispers, “are you…pleasuring yourself?”

“Would it disgust you if I am?”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head quickly, the thought of watching him do such a thing making her feel hot and tingly all over.

“Perhaps I am,” he says, a teasing lilt to his answer. “Maybe I’m taking my cock in hand as my lady wife displays herself so wantonly for me?....for _only_ me.”

Sansa squirms before gasping when she feels Jon’s cock slide against her wet folds. Up and down he rubs his length against her, pulling a whimper from her lips.

“What do you want, my love?” he teases.

“You.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“I want you…your…your _cock_ ,” Sansa gulps, having never said the word aloud before.

“Where?”

Her cheeks really must be flaming as red as her hair now as she blurts out her answer. “Inside me! I want your cock inside me!”

Jon complies to her wish quickly, slipping inside her just long enough for a moan to escape her lips before he’s pulling out again and resumes sliding his hard length through the wet lips of her sex, back and forth, back and forth.

Sansa whines – there’s no denying that the slip-slide of his cock against her feels sinfully good, but she wants him to fill her, to join them as one, she wants to hear him pant and grunt the way he does when she can feel him alight with pleasure on top of her. Jon responds to her noises by slipping into her once more, thrusting quickly and then retreating to repeat the glorious torture. Over and over he repeats the pattern.

“Jon,” Sansa moans.

“What is it, my love?” he asks, thrusting swiftly into her and then pulling out again, “What do you want?”

“I…I…” _Gods!_ She thinks, _he’s really going to make me say it_. “…I want you…I want you to fuck me…please.”

Jon makes that pleased noise again, thick and throaty, before he finally sinks into her and moves to lay atop her. Sansa instinctively tugs on her restraints, her natural reaction to Jon being above her like this is to spear her fingers through his hair. Her hands flex with the memory of how it feels to do so. She licks her lips, suddenly so very aware of every part of Jon pressed against her and how she’s spread open for him while she’s unable to see any of it at all. It’s indecent and delightful all at the same time, she realises as Jon continues his shallow thrusts.

“Is that what you wanted, wicked girl? You like it when I fuck you?” Jon asks, his breath becoming a little strained.

 _“Yes!”_ Sansa groans.

“Tell me.”

“I…I like it when you fuck me _, OH!”_ Sansa exclaims breathily as Jon picks up his pace, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh getting louder and faster as he jostles her with each thrust.

“Mmmm,” Jon growls as the bed begins to creak in time with his hips, “my wicked girl…my beautiful little wanton wife.”

If Sansa’s eyes were not already closed against the blindfold, Jon would have witnessed them flutter shut at the way he’d sinfully uttered the word _‘wife’,_ making gooseflesh trickle down her spine and her breath hitch.

There was a sudden knock at their door and Jon stilled, panting above her. Sansa’s breath catching in her throat for an entirely different reason now as it all came flooding back to her that Jon is doing this very scandalous thing to her in the middle of the daylight hours.

“Your grace?” comes the soft voice of one of Sansa’s maids.

“W-what is it?” she calls, strung up naked and blindfolded with Jon’s cock inside her. Sansa can feel Jon’s heart thud against her chest, his breath hot against her neck and his toned stomach expand against her with every pant. Jon - _the utterly wicked man that he is_ \- begins to grind his hips into hers, pushing and rubbing against her point of pleasure.

“It’s the glass gardens your grace,” came the voice from behind the door. Jon started to thrust, shallow and slow.

“I-I can’t come to the door at the-“ Sansa sucked in a gasp as Jon began thrusting harder, faster as she spoke, “ _Uh_ …I’m a little….a little indisposed at the moment!” She bit down hard on her bottom lip to trap the moan that was building.

“Yes, your grace,” the maid answered, “it’s only there’s root-rot in the lemon trees and the gardener said to-“

 _“LEMONS ARE OF NO CONCERN TO ME AT THIS MOMENT!”_ Sansa hollered, making Jon chuckle and begin to pound into her with fervour, the bed beginning to creak once more. She felt a twinge of embarrassment at the noises they were making but it all felt far too good to call for any of it to stop.  “I am…I am busy…so could you… _oh!..._ could you come back later please!... _Ungggh!”_

“As you wish, your grace,” the woman answered before she presumably disappeared.

 _“Oh Jon!”_ Sansa groaned, “Jon, Jon, Jon, yes, _yes! Oh Gods!”_

A few more thrusts with Jon pushing up against her sensitive nub and Sansa was gone. Lost to the bright burst of sunlight behind her eyelids. Her cunny throbbed, and her toes tingled. She felt her peak even at the roots of her hair. It wasn’t long before Jon began to grunt into the side of her neck, his hips losing their rhythm before he shouted a strained, strangled noise into her skin.

With her husband collapsed atop her, they both tried to steady their breathing and the beating of their hearts. Sweaty, sated and completely wrung for pleasure.

The blindfold was pushed up to her forehead and Sansa blinked at the sudden influx of light. She managed to focus, and saw her husband looking down at her with a wide grin on his handsome face.

“Lemons are of _‘no concern’_ to you now then, my love?” he teased.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
